BLACK JOCK'S END
When Walker reached the surface, he was like a madman. He raved and
swore and frothed like a churn, running here, there and everywhere
nearly collapsing with rage, which sprang from terror.
Usually cool and calculating, steady and active-minded, he seemed to
have lost all grip upon himself. He had been drinking heavily the night
before and was none too sober in the morning when he was called upon to
go to work. Mag Robertson's attack the night before had sent him to the
drink, and being a heavy drinker he was in a bad state the following
morning. Mr. Rundell found him swearing and raving in a great passion,
sacking men and behaving like a maniac.
"Look here, Walker," he began at once, his quick temper rising anew as
he thought of the story Sanny Robertson had told him. "I'll give you
twenty-four hours to get out of here and away from the place; and if you
are not gone in that time I shall inform the police. I know the whole
story regarding the setting of the contracts. Sanny has told me, and if
I was doing right I would not give you a single minute."
Walker seemed to calm down all at once, and his eyes became cringing as
those of a kicked cur as he stood before the angry mine-owner.
"But I hinna telt you a' he has done," said Sanny Robertson, who came up
just then in time to hear Mr. Rundell's words. "The dirty black-hearted
brute murdered Geordie Sinclair. He telt me himsel' one nicht at the
time when we were drinkin' together. He kent a' aboot Geordie workin' on
the boss ground an' sent him to his death to get rid of him because in a
soft moment I had telt Geordie hoo the contracts were set. He was feart
Geordie wad tell you. He's a black-hearted murderer, an' noo he has
added Mag's death to his list o' damnation. Tak' that! an' that! you
dirty villain! I'll save the hangman the bother o' feenishin' you!" and
Sanny was upon Walker tearing at him like a cat, and clawing his face
with his nails, punching, biting and kicking him as hard as he could
drive his hands and feet.
The attack was so sudden that Walker went down, and Sanny was on top of
him before anyone could intervene.
"I'll tear the thrapple oot o' you, you dirty swine!" he squealed, as he
tugged at Black Jock's throat.
Mr. Rundell and a couple of laborers soon pulled Sanny up, though he
struggled to maintain his hold upon the throat of his adversary.
"Let me at him," he yelled, striving to get free. "Let me at him, an'
I'll save the hangman a guid lot o' bother stretchin' his dirty neck!
Oh, you swine! You dirty murderin' beast!" he shrieked, as he tried to
break away from the restraining hands which held him.
But Sanny was soon overpowered, and Walker, bounding to his feet, was
off up the railway towards his home, terror filling his heart, and his
mind reeling with fear.
Mr. Rundell quickly organized a band of men to descend the shaft and
recover Mag's body, and soon the whole village was in possession of the
news, and the excitement was intense.
They gathered her up, a mass of dirty, pulpy flesh, scraping the remains
together and shoveling them into a rude improvised box, the head and
eyes being the only part of the body that resembled anything like a
human being.
"Hell to my sowl, but this is the warst job that ever I got," said
Archie Braidhurst, as he scraped a mass of blood and bones, mud and
rags, together. "It's a hell o' a daith to dee."
"Ay, puir lassie," replied Adam Lindsay. "She's made a splash at the
hinner end. Mag ay cried that it was best to mak' a splash aboot the
things you did; but, by sirs, she has made yin this time. What an awfu'
mess!"
"Splash!" echoed Archie with a grim laugh. "She's gane a' into jaups.
She maun hae thocht she was a juck-pool. I would like to dee like a
Christian when I dee, and no' shuffle oot like a scattered explosion, or
a humplick o' mince."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake shut your mooth, an' let us get her gathered up
an' get oot o' here. Dammit, hae ye nae common sense, swearin' an'
jokin' about sic a thing! It's enough to tempt Providence, an' had it
no' been for the tumblerful o' whisky that Mr. Rundell gied us I dinna
think I could hae faced it. It's awfu'!"
"What the hell are ye girnin' at?" asked Archie, turning round on him.
"Are ye feart Mag bites ye? Man, she's got a' her bitin' by noo,
although I admit she's made a hell o' a mess at the end. Pit your shovel
in here an' lift this pickle, an' no' stand there gapin' like a grisly
ghost at the door o' hell! Fling it into her gapin' mouth, if you think
she's goin' to bite you!" and the others laughed uneasily at Archie's
sardonic humor.
It was a nerve-trying experience for most of them, and they felt sick
with horror of it, in spite of the whisky and their grim jokes. The pit
was put idle, and the men went home. A gloom brooded over the whole
place.
Black Jock saw Mag Robertson's eyes staring at him, as he hurried over
the moor. He had not even stopped to wash himself, but merely stowing
some money into his pocket, was off, not deigning to answer his
daughter's enquiries as to what was wrong, or where he was going. Every
wild bird upon the moor seemed to shout at him in accusation; every
living thing seemed to scream out in terror as he approached.
He laughed a harsh laugh, like the cry of a wild beast, and the sheep
scampered away in fear. The wind moaned out of the gray clouds, which
lay thick upon the hidden hills, and there was an early iciness in its
breath as it groaned past; A soft, slushy sound rose from the moor at
every step, until it seemed that even earth protested. Eerie and sad the
moor was, gray and threatening the hills. Laughing at intervals that low
gurgle which sprang from fear, as some wild bird would start up at his
approach, he plodded on.
He did not know where he was going. He had no particular objective. He
did not know what line he would pursue. He only wanted to get away from
the scene of the tragedy, and those terrible eyes staring, which seemed
to follow him from behind every bush or clump of heather, till in the
gray mist it seemed as if the moor were alive with them.
Eyes everywhere. Eyes that never winked or moved. Eyes that never
trembled with recognition or glimmered with life. Dead eyes, cold eyes,
immovable and clear--horribly clear they were--eyes that simply stared,
neither showing accusation nor denunciation; but there they were at
every tuft of yellow grass, behind every moss-hag, and staring like
pools of clear silent death, which struck horror to his heart. He
bounded sideways as a partridge on whirring wing flew away at his
approach, and almost dropped dead with fright as a muircock, with loud
protesting voice, seemed to scream: "'way back! 'way back! 'way back!"
and then, drawing out into a low grumbling command, as it came to earth
a few hundred yards away, still muttering its orders to him, as he
momentarily stood to recover from his fright.
The whinny of a horse upon the hillside, the low cry of a young cow, the
bleat of a sheep, all added to his feeling of dread, until the sweat
streamed down his body, as he swung along the moor.
At last he came to a little village, about six miles from Lowwood, and,
entering the inn, he called for a supply of whisky.
"It's kind o' cauld the day," the landlady said in an affable way, as he
stepped into the bar.
"Warm enough where I have been," he replied bluntly. "Gie's something to
drink in whusky!"
"So it wad seem," she said in reply, noting his beaded forehead, as he
wiped it with a colored handkerchief.
"You've surely been gey hard ca'd wherever you hae been," and there was
a note of curiosity in her voice.
"I want a drink," he broke in abruptly, "an' it doesna matter a damn to
you whether I hae been hard ca'd or no'. You're surely hellish keen to
hae news. Dis a' your customers get the Catechism when they come in
here?" he queried. "If they do, I may as well tell you to begin with,
that I came in for whusky, an' no' to staun' an examination."
She saw at once that he resented her leisurely way and her attempt at
affability, and she hastened to apologize.
"Look dam'd sharp," he growled, as she attended to his order. "I want
whusky and plenty o' it."
"You are in an unco' hurry," she replied, getting nettled, as she filled
a glass. "It doesna' do to be so snottery as a' that."
"Well, dammit, look alive. I'm dying for a drink. Bring in a bottle," as
she placed a glass before him filled with whisky, "an' tak' the price o'
your dam'd poison aff that!" and he flung down a sovereign upon the
table.
"Look here," said the landlady, "I'll tak' nane o' your snash, so mind
that. If folk come in here to be served, they've got to be ceevil."
"Oh, there's nae harm," he said apologetically, with a forced laugh,
"but I'm in a hurry, and I want a drink."
"Weel, I maun hae ceevility. So if you don't gi'e the yin, you'll no'
get the ither."
"That's all right," he said. "Keep the sovereign. I may need more. Tell
me when it is all spent," and he filled a bumper and drained it without
a halt.
"Weel, ye may be dirty at many a thing," she observed, as she noted his
action, "but you're a gey clean drinker o' whusky anyway," and she left
him with his bottle to fuddle alone.
"A gey queer body that," she mused, as she returned to the bar. "Lod!
he's like a wannert thunder-storm, growlin' and grumblin', as if he had
got lost frae the rest o' his company. But he seems to hae plenty o'
siller anyway," she concluded, "an' he can drink whusky wi' anybody I
ever seen try it."
By and by a village worthy came in, and he was at once hailed by Black
Jock, and invited to have a glass.
"What are you drinkin', chappie?" he enquired.
"Same as you," was the reply, while a smile of pleased anticipation
hovered round the worthy's face at this unexpected good fortune. "I jist
ay tak' a moothfu' o' whusky. As a maitter o' fact, I was brocht up on
the bottle, and I hae never been spained yet."
"Right you are, cocky! Drink up! You're the man I am lookin' for to help
me to spend an hour or twa."
"That'll suit me a' to bits," was the reply, "an' you are jist the man I
hae been lookin' for. It's a guid thing we hae met, or we'd baith hae
been unhappy."
So the hours passed, and each newcomer was invited to join the company,
until it grew so large that the "big room" was requisitioned, and it
soon held a laughing, joking, drinking, good-natured set of as drouthy
individuals as ever met together in company. Every worthy for miles
around seemed to get the news of the free drinks, and whisky and beer
flowed like water, and the company grew more and more cheerful and
happy.
Bottle after bottle of drink was consumed, and as the company got
hilarious, a song was sung or a story was told, until the whole place
had the air of a fair day about it.
Jock spent his money freely, and his company drank his health as freely
as he paid for the drinks. So the merry hours went past, and the
darkness came on. Yet for all the whisky that Walker consumed, he never
seemed to get drunk. He was certainly a bit intoxicated, but was in that
condition described by one of the company next day as being "sensibly
drunk."
"Come on, damn you, you son of a tinkler," he urged. "Drink up, an' let
us mak' a nicht o't," and thus urged they drained their glasses, and had
them refilled again and again.
"Gie's a sang, Geordie," cried one of the company across the room to an
old shaggy-faced individual, who sat and laughed and drank with happy
demeanor, rubbing his bristly chin, which resembled the back of a
hedgehog, with dirty gnarled fingers which seemed made for lifting
glasses, having a natural crook in them, into which the glass as
naturally fitted. "You hinna sung anything yet. Gie's yin o' your ain
makin'."
"Lodsake, I canna sing," said Geordie, with the air of a man who wanted
to be told he could sing.
"Ach, you can sing fine," was the chorused reply from nearly everyone in
the company.
"Come on, Geordie, you ken you can sing fine. Man, there's no' a better
singer in the place, auld and a' as ye are."
"Och, I canna sing noo, Charlie," replied Geordie, clearing his throat,
"but I'll confess that I hae seen the day when I could lilt it wi' the
best o' them."
"Oh, but we a' ken fine that you can sing. Man, it's a treat to hear
him," said Charlie, turning to Black Jock. "He could wile the bird aff
the bush. Gie's yin o' your ain, Geordie. It's aye best to hear you at
yin o' your ain."
"Oh, weel," said Geordie with a show of reluctance, as he rose to his
feet, making a noise in his throat, like the exhaust pipe of an engine,
"seein' that you are all so pressin' on the maitter, I'll gi'e ye a bit
verse or twa."
A roar of applause greeted Geordie as he sat down, and words of
appreciation broke from everyone in the room.
"Dam'd guid, Geordie! Fill up your glass. That deserves a richt guid
dram!" cried Black Jock, as he reached across the table and poured a
bumper for Geordie. "Wha's gaun to sing next? Come on, chaps; let us
mak' a nicht o't!"
"Hear, hear," said Geordie. "I'm just feelin' in gran' fettle for a
nicht. Tammas Fairly will gie's a bit verse maybe. He can sing a fair
guid song."
"Me sing!" exclaimed Tam. "Gae awa'! Ye ken fine I canna sing like you,
Geordie," and there was a hint of assumed bashfulness in Tam's voice as
he spoke.
"Come on, Tam. There's to be nae jookin' oot o' it. It's to be a sang
roon' aboot, so you micht as weel begin noo, an' get your turn by."
"Ay, come on," chimed in Walker. "Let us enjoy oorsel' the nicht, when
we are in a mood for it. Guid kens when we may ever spend a nicht
thegither again. Come on, Tam, get up!"
"Oh, weel," said Tam with bashful reluctance, "I'll do my best," and
clearing his throat, Tam sang.
"Hear, hear!" roared Black Jock. "That deserves a bumper too, Tammas.
Fill up your glass. An honest dram's afore a' the simperin' Judies that
ever held up their gabs to be kissed!" and filling another round, they
drank, and roared, and cried their appreciation.
The fun waxed fast and furious, as song after song was sung, which
sometimes were capped by a rough story or a questionable joke from
someone in the company.
"But you havena gi'en us a sang yoursel'!" observed Charlie, turning to
Black Jock, after most of the company had obliged with an effort.
"No, I havena gi'en you a sang," he replied with a coarse laugh, "but I
hae paid for a' the drinks, an' I suppose that'll please the maist o'
you better than a dizzen sangs frae me."
"Quite true," said Geordie. "You're a gentleman, an' I never met a
better. I only hope we'll hae the pleesure o' meetin' you here again
afore lang. It's been yin o' the best nichts I hae spent for a lang
time."
"That's true, Geordie," said Charlie. "He has gi'en us yin o' the best
nichts I hae ever spent. In fact I never min' o' haein' a better, an' to
celebrate it, if nane of you hae ony objections, I'll sing anither
sang."
"Hear, hear," cried Walker heartily. "Order for the sang," and he tapped
the table loudly with a bottle, as he called for quietness amid the din.
"Order for the sang, boys!" bawled Geordie, "Charlie is gaun to favor
the company," and as the noise immediately ceased, Charlie sang a song
about the fascinating women.
"That's a guid yin, Charlie," roared Walker, thumping the table as he
roared. "I hae had a lang experience o' weemin' bodies," and he winked
across to Geordie as he spoke, "an' I can say they are rale
blood-suckers. They're like whisky, gran' at the time, but you sing
sorry next day, an' fin' oot what a fool you hae been. They hing on to
you like leeches, an' mak' a mess o' things at the en'. Though you had a
face like a crocodile as long as you had plenty of cash, they'd lick
your feet; when your money's done, they're awa' like swallows at the
first nip o' autumn frost!"
"Ay, it's a dam'd funny world," he went on in a lower tone, as if half
speaking to himself. "A fu' purse an' you've plenty o' frien's, an' a
woman when you need her, but if your purse is toom, your heart may
grien a hell o' a lang while afore yin wad ever come near you."
Thus the evening passed till some were lying below the table, unable to
sit up and take their round; and finally the closing hour arrived, and
all had to disperse.
Black Jock, again left to himself, deserted by all his company, and in
spite of all the drink he had consumed walking fairly steadily, stepped
out upon the country road, neither caring nor knowing in which direction
he went. His head bent forward upon his breast, or rolling occasionally
from side to side, seemed too heavy for his neck to support, as he
swayed from the center of the road to its margin.
The horrible staring eyes began again to infest his journey, and seemed
to accompany him wherever he went. He could not get away from them. Out
in the lonely night, the whole sky merry with stars, was alive with
staring eyes, that glared down upon him from above with a cold sinister
light. They looked at him from the hedgerows; they glared at him from
behind every bush or knoll by the wayside; they glowered at him from
behind the trees; and they even perched upon his shoulders and peeped at
him in accusation.
"Damn you!" he growled, striking at them as if he would brush them from
his sight; but still they followed and accused no matter where he
turned. He grew more and more irritated and alarmed, as they seemed to
multiply with every minute that passed; and he quickened his pace, but
in spite of his speed, they still pursued and multiplied.
Driven mad by the persistence of their stare, he rushed from side to
side of the road, striking at them, hitting out with his hands, and
kicking with his feet; but still they grew in numbers and in immensity.
He shook himself as if to free his body from them; he rushed ahead,
swearing and muttering; he growled and shouted, sometimes pleading to be
let alone, and sometimes roaring defiance to the night air; but still
the eyes held him relentlessly, implacably, and ever growing in numbers,
until it seemed as if the whole countryside were alive with them. They
came nearer and receded again; they swarmed round him in legions, then
withdrew behind the hedges to stare at him with wide-open lids. They
drew him onward, and he advanced cautiously. Then they rushed at him,
and retired again, as if driven back; but still they were there, just
round the bend of the road, just behind that bush, just over that hedge,
and behind that tree, glaring and looking at him, and ready to rush
forth again as soon as they thought he was sufficiently off his guard.
"Back!" he roared again, striking out with his fist as they rose only a
couple of yards ahead. "Back! an' be damned to you," as a whole swarm
larger and larger, so that they lighted up the night, came rushing round
him.
They were hissing and roaring at him this time. They had hitherto been
silent, and he seemed to hear at first a low murmuring whisper, as if
they consulted together as to the best way to attack him. Then the
whisper grew to a louder swishing sound like the noise Mag had made as
her body hurtled from side to side on falling down the shaft. It grew
louder and louder, like the wind coming through far-off trees, gradually
swelling to a roar. The eyes grew in numbers and got larger with the
noise; and finally, with terror clutching at his heart and an oath upon
his lips, he turned to run back, only to find that they had all merged
into two wide, horribly glaring fiery eyes which were bearing down upon
him with the speed and noise of an express train. They were on him
before he could turn, as if they now realized that he was fully at their
mercy, and with the courage of desperation he flung himself bodily upon
them and went down crushed beneath the heavy mass of a motor driven with
reckless speed by a young man rushing to catch a train.
Walker was down before the young man realized what had happened and the
hoot of the horn had merely spurred Black Jock to the last desperate
leap to death, the lights of the motor having taken on the shape of all
the pursuing eyes that had followed him that night.
When he was taken from beneath the wheels, his neck broken and his body
smashed, Black Jock had paid the last penalty, and the eyes which
destroyed him flashed out accompaniment to his departing soul. And the
winking skies, still merry with the stars of night, looked down unmoved,
while the night-birds on the moor answered one another in their flight,
and called a last farewell to the spirit of Black Jock.